


Applied Combinatorics in Two-Player Games

by 28ghosts



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bickering, Chess, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, handwaves Endgame ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-22 08:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18132743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts/pseuds/28ghosts
Summary: After a battle, Tony Stark and Stephen Strange argue about games.-“Chess is not a solved problem.”“Has been since ‘97, Kasparov versus Deep Blue. Kasparov, 1; Deep Blue, 2; three draws.”“Chess is agame, not a problem.”





	Applied Combinatorics in Two-Player Games

If you call a guy in as backup and he gets thrown into a wall because of it, it’s probably pretty reasonable for you to provide a little space for him to recuperate. That explains well enough why Stephen Strange is in Tony’s kitchen, watching a cup of tea brew.

It doesn’t quite explain why they’re talking about chess. That one’s all on Strange, who’d asked, out of nowhere, if Tony happened to play.

"Nah. Why bother? It's a solved problem, Doc." Tony portions out a serving and a half of powdered greens more of less out of muscle memory, then a scoop of protein powder. “Nothing against it, just better things to do with my time.”

“Chess is not a solved problem.”

“Has been since ‘97, Kasparov versus Deep Blue. Kasparov, 1; Deep Blue, 2; three draws.”

“Chess is a _game_ , not a problem.”

“Yeah, well, fine.” Tony shakes his drink for just long enough to be obnoxious, just because he can. He takes a swig. Does his best to ignore the taste. “It’s a solved game, then.”

Strange extracts the teabag from his cup, sets it in the saucer Tony set out. “A game can’t be solved.”

“Sure it can. By a neural network, at least.”

“That hardly counts.”

Tony shrugs. “I’m just more interested in the robots that can beat the game than I am in the game, no offense.”

“None taken, believe me.”

Strange says it with enough condescension that Tony has to grin. “Alright, convince me I’m missing out. What’s so special about it?”

“There are four hundred possible configurations of pieces on the board after both players have taken their first move,” Strange says. “After both players have taken their second move, more than a hundred and ninety-seven thousand possible placements of pieces. After the third…”

“Yeah, yeah. Lots.”

Even from across the kitchen, it’s easy to see how badly Strange’s hands shake. Both of his hands are wrapped around the shitty mug with its 2010 Stark Expo logo nearly washed out. “More than a hundred and nineteen million,” Strange says.

Tony swirls the shaker bottle in one hand so the protein powder won’t settle and get gross.

He thinks about Titan a lot, but just sort of in the abstract. He finally visited an alien planet, and all he got was his ass kicked and half the galaxy temporarily turned to dust. It’s unsettling remembering the specifics of what went down on Titan during good guys versus Thanos, round one. Teaming up with Quill’s group of alien misfits, having to let Peter fight _Thanos_ , Strange turning black holes into butterflies.

(Strange glowing green in midair, falling to the earth and telling them all _fourteen million six hundred and five futures_ , and just one of them where they’d win – _we’re in the endgame now_...)

“Yeah, sure, but how likely are all of those hundred and million possible permutations?” Tony asks. He leans against the counter and examines Strange, who still looks pretty beat up. Which is fair. There had been a whole trans-dimensional magic squid they had to fight off, and it’s not like Strange shows up to fight wearing armor or anything. “Yeah, sure, if you look at every possible move some idiot could make using the pawns and the rooks and the princes or whatever–”

“Kings, not princes,” Strange interjects, weary in a way that suggests he knows that Tony’s getting the names of pieces wrong on purpose.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point is, the probability space of likely games is way smaller than a hundred million billion or whatever.” He swirls his drink, takes a long drink and pretends to not see Strange rolling his eyes. “Only so many games are actually likely to happen.”

“Correct,” Strange says, though he doesn’t sound like he means it. He looks up as if he’s running calculations in his head, furrows his brow as if he’s concentrating, and it’s all so douchey and over the top that Tony hopes they can keep this argument going forever. “One might reasonably assume three justifiable moves per player per turn, averaged out across the duration of a game, and games lasting, on average, forty pairs of moves, what would that work out to…”

“Let me know if you want to ask FRIDAY. Robots are great at both chess _and_ advanced mathematical calculations.”

“...somewhere between ten to the thirty-ninth power and ten to the forty-first.”

Now Tony’s the one who gets to roll his eyes. “You totally had that memorized.”

Strange winks. “Maybe.”

“You find yourself arguing about chess a lot?” 

“Often enough.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not my kind of game.” On impulse, Tony pushes himself off the counter. He sits himself across the table from Strange, and he props his chin on one hand, staring openly.

“Dare I ask what your ‘type’ of game actually is?”

It’s the most blatantly flirtatious Strange has ever sounded, and fuck, Tony’s into it. But before he can insinuate something outrageous about strip poker, Strange stares into his mug and starts talking again. This time all earnest and stiff.

“Chess is an ancient game, you know. Played all over the world. Wong is fond of it, though unfortunately I can’t convince him to play that often.”

Yeah, Tony doesn’t know much about chess, but he knows what an opening gambit looks like, what a retreat looks like. And besides, it’s always like this with Strange. They start off strong with the banter, and then Strange realizes he’s enjoying himself and reacts by abruptly leaving, probably so he can go back to sternly meditating in the haunted house he lives in. Or something.

“I used to gamble.” A lot. He doesn’t even want to think about how much money he might as well have just given to his favorite casinos. Sometimes he’s glad his memory of his twenties and thirties is as spotty as it is. What he remembers is enough fuel for self-recrimination. “Craps, mostly. I liked roulette.”

“Chess is too simple, but you enjoyed _roulette_.” Strange’s voice drips with condescension, but Tony will take that over stiff and self-conscious any day of the week.

“Maybe I just find things more interesting when there’s money to lose.”

“A game with more possible board configurations than there are stars in the universe is boring, but 37-to-1 odds favoring the house manages to hold your interest?”

Tony shrugs and settles back in the kitchen shair, crossing his arms across his chest. “Maybe whoever invented chess should’ve added a monetary wager.”

Strange’s hands shake as he brings the mug up to his mouth, but he manages. Tony’s still not really sure what the deal is there. He could hack something, figure it out, but that feels – that feels wrong. Strange isn’t some SHIELD lackey, and he’s definitely not an Avenger. Tony’s still not sure what Strange’s deal is, exactly. Just that Strange helps them, sometimes, when there’s a threat facing Earth that comes from somewhere other than Earth.

And that Strange had once given up an Infinity Stone to save his life. That, too.

Strange drains the mug, sets it down gently. He’s about to say something – ‘I should leave,’ probably – when Tony interrupts him. “Really, my game these days is poker.”

“...really.” Strange doesn’t sound surprised.

“How’d you know house odds for roulette off the top of your head anyways?” Tony taps at his temple. “Photographic memory? That’s not supposed to be real, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it photographic. Eidetic, maybe. And not perfect.” Strange slips the golden ring on that he uses for transporting himself. Tony wonders if it’s the ring itself that’s magic, if just anyone could use it.

He could ask, one of these days. About the magic. Or about Strange. What it was that led him to being both a doctor _and_ a wizard. Sorcerer, whatever.

That would mean answering questions, too, tit for tat and all. If Strange even asked, that is. Was there anything Strange would want to know about him? There’s a lot about him that’s public record, Tony knows too well. Authorized biographies and unauthorized biographies and TMZ video reel of him stumbling drunk out of board meetings at ten in the morning. No sex tape _yet_ , but something will surface eventually.

And then there’s anything Strange might know from the futures he saw. The futures where they lost. Does Strange even remember those? Does he wake up in the middle of the night, terrified and disoriented and completely unsure of what timeline he’s in?

That’s what they could be talking about instead of bickering about chess. For an unsteady moment, Tony stares at Strange, and Strange stares back, blank and patient, and Tony considers it.

He can’t do it. Can’t ask one of those serious questions, the ones that actually matter. Not yet. “Bet you demolished the MCAT,” he says.

Maybe he’s a coward, or maybe he just enjoys the levity too much to risk asking something serious. Maybe both.

“Perfect score on my first try.”

“Don’t tell me you took it more than once, Doc.”

Strange smirks. “Perfect score the second time, too.”

“That’s insufferable. No wonder you love chess; you can memorize everything you need to.”

Strange nearly smiles more genuinely at that, Tony thinks. “Thank you for the tea. I should be going.”

“Any time. Thanks for the assist.”

“We should be thanking you. The barriers between Tazza’s dimension and this one should never have grown so weak.”

“Earth, one; space squid, zero,” Tony says.

Strange nods. He puts the mug and saucer on the counter before holding one hand out, getting ready to portal his way home.

“Me and Rhodey and a couple other guys have a poker night sometimes, when enough people are free. You should join us.”

Strange has one hand held in midair, ready to start drawing a circle in mid-air, but he hasn’t started casting yet. That’s something, at least. “My schedule is...unpredictable.”

Tony shrugs. “Join the club. That’s why it’s when enough people are free. I’ll text you. Wong can come if he wants.”

“I’ll...consider it. Thank you.” And then there’s gold in midair, Strange stepping through it to another place, and then Tony’s alone.

He chugs the rest of his protein shake.

Not a yes, but not a no, either. It’s a start, at least.

“Hey, FRIDAY. How many possible poker hands are there?”

“Assuming a five-card hand, there are two 2,598,960 unique possibilities.”

It’s less than 14,000,605. And ought to be better odds than 37-to-1.

Definitely a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation in the IronStrange Haven Discord.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments & kudos are always appreciated ♡


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